Walk the street. Denis Denis… Chelsea Girl… Yes! You Debbie! You are the true Chelsea Girl, so sexy and so erotic.
When I first moved to New York in the early 90s in Chelsea I used to live on 22nd street and 8th avenue. Did I ever know I would be living next to Debbie Harry? Never! It was a chance in a million I suppose.
The first time we met was for a shoot for British Vogue at the Algonquin Hotel. I arrived with a huge bouquet of flowers just to say whaoua. We were doing a spread of eight pages, me being me and being in another planet, I shaved with a blunt electric razor, and I looked like a boy who has been claw by a werewolf!
Anyway, the story was a success and we started to hang out. I suppose I did have a big crush on Debbie; we used to have a bite to eat for dinner around 11’th Street and 9’th Avenue with a dear friend Stephan Sprouse, a maverick designer. Stephan was very close to Debbie and we ended up doing a few more shoots for German Bazaar.
Yes, you were my Marilyn Monroe with a pout and that unmistakeable peroxide hair. An icon.
Making this book about you is definitely an act of love. I wish we had stayed in contact, but life takes turns in the most unexpected fashion…
What can I say? When I put on my Anthony Sinclair suit and my Crombie, in the back of my mind I hear a little music… Call Me from the soundtrack of American Gigolo. The magic works! I feel sexy like Richard Gere but without his looks. It’s tough on me, but your music Debbie is a true feeling of Americana, driving on the Pacific Coast Highway in LA, in a convertible going to meet a girl…
I remember the story you told me about being in a cab in New York and the driver happened to be Ted Bundy. Ted Bundy the serial killer. That was a lucky escape Debbie. A lucky escape for you and a lucky escape for music, which you lit up like the star you have always been.
So long Darling, I hope to see you soon.